1860 is Always Better with Two
by timelucked
Summary: And smiling down at his Rose, looped around the crook of his arm, he could only think that it really was better…with two.


"Oi oi oi!" the Doctor cried out, giving his pranciful companion a once-over as she skipped to the door. "Where'd you think you're goin'?"

"1860," she giggled, rocking back on her heels as she twirled to face him, beaming with eyes a-glitter.

His face puckered, voice seeped with incredulity. "Go out there, dressed like that? You'll start a riot, Barbarella!"

Rose glanced down at herself, picking up her breaker by the sleeve as it slipped off her shoulder all too inconveniently. She thought she looked fine. Was her _chav_ish outfit not good enough for the Doctor – or more appropriately, 1860, then? The thought suddenly clicked.

_Ah. Yes. Prudish time, the Doctor's right._ Rose rolled her honey eyes, thankfully he was too busy mocking her to notice. _Of course he is, _she finished internally, tuning back into his droning.

"There's a wardrobe through there," he pointed toward the hall, face stern as he took in her appearance in something close to disdain and exasperation. "first left, second right, third on the left – go straight ahead! – on to the stairs, past the Benz, fifth door on your left," his entire body reeled back as he took the time to inhale. He arched a brow, knocking his thumb toward the corridor. "'Urry up!"

Without so much as a hesitation, Rose hopped to a sprint and walked hastily past him and the console, buzzing with a warming glow she lacked the time to notice. He found a grin unfurling, chuckling under his breath as he set back to the work at hand. A neutral wire had come loose under the console that needed his immediate attention. Wouldn't want to pitch off to some _Unknown_ in the middle of their journey.

The Doctor knelt and felt the moment he heard bones creaking like rusted metal and thought sourly, _I am getting too old for this._

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"First…left," Rose whispered to herself, fine fingers grazing along the paneling of the TARDIS; she could almost swear it was humming a sweet melody the instant the pads of her fingers came into contact with it. _Her_, she mentally corrected, giving the machine an apologetic pat.

Rose peered around a corner, "Second…_right_," she stopped. Her eyes blinking at what she saw, slowly shaking her head. "No…no…that is definitely _not_ a movie theatre, _nope_!" She continued on, following the mental map-out the Doctor had given her. "Fourth left. Fourth? No, no, second—" she opened the door to said room and slammed it shut with a squeak. "No, no, not second_ – not second!_"

Her hand gripped the knob – an odd, little button that looked like a star, the cute kind. _The fake kind,_ she amended with a nod, twisting then realizing it went the other way. It opened and she stepped through.

"Go straight," she repeated condescendingly, her feet getting tired and her mind grumbling over the ridiculousness of his amazing spaceship. Timeship. Spimeship? "On to the stairs," she spotted the foot of such a thing and trotted over to it, fist pumped in the air triumphantly, "On to the stairs!"

The paneling was different in this area, older and darker. _A more mature theme_, she thought, _like fine wine or wood_. The thought passed as she saw a shinning, black car. Her full lips puckered in awed appreciation. When he said Benz he meant _Benz_. She stepped closer and ran her fingers over the sleek metal, cool and steely beneath her. Rose imagined the Doctor felt the same; all black and leather, and cool, but warm. She leapt back as if the ice surface had burned her, staggering to follow the path she had set forth for originally. Just five more pairs of odds and ends – namely ends and enters – and she was there – there!

The door swung open to reveal a grinning girl whose mouth suddenly dropped. The room was _massive!_ Extraordinarily _huge_! A legion could fit into the space and all there was were outfits from every century from every planet; probably every galaxy! _Hell,_ she balked. _There very well _could_ be a legion hidin' out in here_. She chuckled at the thought of being ambushed by a Roman in a fuzzy robe. She raised a sardonic brow as the first item on the rack was a hanging replica of what those under the command of Caesar himself would don in times of war, and even those instances of leisure.

"Now you're just being funny, you are," she spoke to the TARDIS, pointing up in mock accusation. "Well anyway," she clapped her hands, forcing the friction of their movement to heat them up. "What have you got for me?"

There was a whirring sound that sounded so close to the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, Rose jolted her head round to check if there were any peeking aliens about. When there weren't any visible, she faced back after another skeptical glance, and found that the military uniform had been swapped for something that looked like a ballerina and tuna fish mated to spawn…_this_.

Rose pulled a face, waving a hand before her nose as if the attire rank of something putrid when no smell outwardly came from it. "_Maybe_ I'll have a look for myself, yeah?" she drawled, ambling around the mechanical rack for a glance at something suitable.

She fingered various outfits; some ranging from the arctic to the skimpy, which made her severely question just what and _where_ the Doctor was to wear this – she hefted the hanger off the pole and put it to herself, retching as she imagined the Doctor wearing something that looked like a mesh-y, thong-y thing. The image of her donning such a thing that seemed to stick in her mind's eye like glue on a hallmark card had her flinging the thing across the room. She heard it some ways away clicking on the floor. Groaning, Rose was oh so tempted to shout her frustration to the TARDIS, hoping the Doctor could hear and come to her rescue, even if in this regard she was – _should be_ – more than capable.

Then she saw it. A dress made for the era, made for any era, exuding such elegance that just looking at it made her feel high society and brimming with poise. It was beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. And she couldn't wait to put it on.

_Pins!_ Rose internally shrieked, rolling her hair up into a lovely twist and stabbing herself continually as she attempted to get the hairstyle she wanted. _Pins!_

She growled around the tiny needles held in her mouth, hopping from foot to foot making clacking noises with the heels she wore. Throwing her head up, a triumphant noise clawed its way from her throat as she jammed the last pin into place, a manic grin taking shape. She let the smirk fade as she stared at herself, reflected three times over in the fitting room. Rose turned her head this way and that, not believing it to be herself; as if one moment she was there, and the next she would look away and be gone, and in her place a woman from the 19th century off to the gala for an evening roundabout. There was ample amounts of her cleavage exposed, most likely improper for the time, yet far better than what she had originally had on – pants in the 1800's! Ridiculous. The Doctor was right, it had been daft of her to want to prance around Cardiff, Christmas day, 1860 in faded Levi's and a loose windbreaker.

And not for the first time…she was glad he was.

Thinking of him made her wonder what his thoughts would be on her dress. Would he like that it clung to her curves so exquisitely? That it dipped down and out with a flourish that was modern and still ladylike. That the deep color made her skin shine flawless and as bright as the star-knob she had come across a few doors back. Rose scowled, adjusting her torso in the tight-fitted dress.

What would it matter what he thought anyway. Not as if she dressed this way for him. No. Ludicrous thought that she simply erased from her mind, irritated it had flitted into it in the first place. She coughed delicately, trying for a posh persona as she studied herself in the mirror once more.

_Are you just going to stand here all day, Rose Tyler, or are you going to go out and see the world outside your little closet?_ A voice far too similar to the Doctor's rang clear in her head as if it had really been he who had whispered it, tracing it along her ear like a verbal caress. She steadied herself, fists at her side, and clipped away on her heels.

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The sound of shoes filled the halls as the Doctor muttered, coating the screwdriver he gripped firmly between his lips as he fixed the panels and matrices under the console with saliva, "'Bout bloody time,"

He wheeled from under the console, nearly burning himself on an open wire that slithered and snapped like a live snake from the Gamjeen forest, to assess how his companion had fared on her travels through the oh-so perilous trials of clothing perusals. The Doctor had to blink twice to be sure he saw correctly. Gods were a myth, something to amend the society of its reason for sin, but he was certain what stood before him was nothing short of an angel.

"Blimey," he managed, word but a breath hushed on his lips.

Rose snorted, rolling those skeptical eyes. "Don't laugh," she warned him, finger wagging at him as if he'd already done something naughty. With the way she looked, he had plans to.

"You look _beautiful_," he swallowed hard, nearly choking on the words. Darn sake's, she's merely a girl! A human, not an angel. He told her so as well.

"Uh…thanks," she looked off beneath a furrowed, contemplative brow. "I _think_?"

Well that was perfect. He had bungled it all up, acting like a sodden school boy who hit the girl he liked because he liked her. That flawed logic worked for the Doctor in the moment. If he wasn't so bent on never having harm befall her, he'd rather have punched Rose than do the things he that raced through his mind; that picked up his two hearts in a dance that was too fast for him to handle. Still though, he beat himself over not simply sticking with saying she looked lovely. No, he was the genius Time Lord that had to go and add a rather rude, "Considering," to the mix.

Internally seething, he clued her in to nothing and twined his arm with hers, in a style that to the outside would look courting. But this was Rose and the Doctor, and only their second official outing as such, so there was no courting. Just companionship for a lonely man and a spirit-stifled young girl.

And smiling down at his Rose, looped around the crook of his arm, he could only think that it really was better…with two.

- End - -

**A/N: Hullo! I'd rant about my love of the Doctor (9/10)/Rose dynamic, but I already put that on my tumblr and I don't feel like needlessly retyping. Plus, it's not long you guys care. But you wanna know what _I_ care about?**

**Your input! I don't care about review number count, but I honestly am interested in what you guys have to say. So, hey… that button…you should, like, click it and stuff. :]**

**Oh, and if you couldn't tell, this is set during Series 1 Ep. 3, the Unquiet Dead. At the beginning where Rose and the Doctor come in.**

**Well, thank you for reading, and if you still are – what are you doing? Come on, you know no one reads the author's notes. Feh. Weirdo. (I still love you though, don't worry)**


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